At Night
Pine-needles brush her hand. It is sticky with sap. She is running. Pelting through the trees, Náriel in her arm, quiet and wide-eyed in fright, is pressed to her body in protection. (Do not ask how she knows that her daughter is wide-eyed even though she is running and has no time to look down or watch her child as she does sometimes in her studio when the little one does not feel watched and smears clay into her clothes and hair, and although she will need to bathe her afterwards she will only sit there and watch and smile and ---) She is running. Twigs in her face, smash, the smell of sap pungent in her nose and burning scratches, and running and another breath and the moon is too bright overhead between the trees she will be seen will be seen will... he is too close behind her! Another breath another it hurts another! Run do not care run breathe run --- go on!
Too close!
Hush, Náriel, hush, it will be over soon, just a little longer, don't sob, don't whimper, breathe, why is her face so wet? Run! The ground is uneven careful lest you stumble, no he is too close, run, his breath is on your skin like a lover, the shadow like a perverse twist of --- do not let him touch you! Run!
Too late!
('Will you come with me? I want to show you Aman's secret places where we will sleep beneath the stars.' 'I will come with you if you keep me warm' 'Always.')(' She is always so weak after childbirth, more every time, another will claim her life,' her sister says and she hears even though she is supposed to sleep, the twins just born ---) but she is not weak, she is just exhausted, no strength to lift the sword and fight, why is it so cold? Why is she not moving? She should run! She struggles. She is on the ground. She cannot breathe... She wants to sleep. Her fingers try to close around the hilt, she is not weak... she cannot lift it, the bang in her ears, the echo is too loud... no, no echo... a second time... her ears ring. Again. Again.
('Give me that, my love, you are too young to play with a hammer, did you put it in your mouth? Mahtan, see what your daughter did. Have an eye on her, the forge is no place for her, not ---')
Is that why there is such a strange taste in her mouth? Metal... The sword is torn from her hands, she had almost had it, let her have --- breath. Let her have breath. Let her breathe...
Fëanáro... he has the sword. Where did he come from? Stands to face the shadow wielding the firearm. Click, click, click. Curses. Empty. Click, click --- The sword descends. --- click. Thump.
It is cold and still... she wants to sleep... someone at her side...
"Hush Náriel, Amil is tired, precious. Do not weep, little spark. Let your mother sle..."
Waking. Breath. She is alive.
But it is the second time she has had that dream, and Nerdanel knows she will not sleep again tonight.